Henry
by Secretly.Squirrelled
Summary: Another P/E one-shot about the making of a Jennings.


Elizabeth braced herself on the sink and shut her eyes. She cursed her stomach has it leapt at the sound of the front door closing. She opened her eyes, rushing to brush her teeth and fix her hair. She emerged from the bathroom just as the bedroom door swung open.

Without directly acknowledging her, Philip spoke quickly as he rummaged through a dresser drawer, "Just got back. Put Paige down for a nap. Have that meet tonight, doubt I'll make it home for dinner."

Elizabeth didn't respond, but moved over to sit on the edge of the bed, willing her stomach to settle.

Philip let out an exasperated sigh and turned around, "Are you even listening to me?" The frustration automatically left his voice when he caught glimpse of her face, he reached out to touch her shoulder, "Hey, are you okay?"

Her stomach decided to answer the question for her. She immediately leapt from the bed and ran to the bathroom. She fell to her knees as the sickness overtook her. Five wretched minutes that seemed like an eternity passed before she acknowledged Philip's presence, marked by the warm hand gently rubbing her back.

Elizabeth didn't move, her eyes clutched shut as the last waves of nausea passed. She lowered herself to the ground, moving her back to lean on the cold porcelain of the bathtub. She swallowed cautiously, and let go of a breath she didn't realize she was holding.

Philip remained kneeled, now in front of her, his expression a mix of confusion and concern, "Are- are you okay?"

"Yeah. I'm fine." Elizabeth shook her head and feigned a smile.

His eyes remained locked on hers, expression unchanging.

"Really." She diverted her eyes, "It must have been something I ate."

"You've barely eaten in days."

"That's not true."

Philip raised his eyebrows.

"It's not like you see everything I do," she retorted.

He shook his head. "Why are you lying?" he asked, unnecessarily, the realization hitting him before the words left his mouth.

Philip's eyes lowered to the gold band on his left hand. Elizabeth looked over at him, silently watching him piece the puzzle together. He finally asked, "H-how far along?"

She shrugged, keeping her voice even, "A few months."

"How long have you known?"

"I don't know. A month. Maybe more."

He looked up at her, eyes glassy and expression reminiscent of a hurt child, "Why didn't you tell me?"

She didn't answer, but turned her head away from him in an effort to shield herself from the guilt that threatened to seep in.

Philip's mind raced through the silence until a sickening thought struck him, draining the color from his face. "Is-is it…" The word caught in his throat, "…mine?"

The question made Elizabeth's already upset stomach churn. It was more than just an open acknowledgment of the other men she gave her body to for the sake of following orders. The thought of carrying the child of one of the weak American targets made her sick. And, what was worse, for as much as she wanted to be infuriated with him for asking, she knew he had every right to question it.

She stared directly into his eyes as she answered, "Yes."

Elizabeth decided to forego the explanation, having little desire to recount her recent success using alternative methods to garnish information from her sexually-starved victims. She was grateful when an unmasked look of relief flooded Philip's face, making it evident that no explanation was necessary.

Then, suddenly, the wave of sickness overtook her again. Without warning, she lunged past him to the toilet and expelled what little her stomach still contained. She slumped back down on the cold linoleum, shut her eyes, and wished the feeling away.

Minutes passed before she acknowledged Philip's repetitive soft whispers that accompanied the warm hand gently caressing her back, "Shh. I'm sorry. Please relax. I'm so sorry. It's okay. Shh."

His pitiful tone made her feel pathetic. Elizabeth blinked hard in an effort to stop the room from spinning and ran a hand through her hair, "I'm fine." She steadied an arm on the edge of the toilet and attempted to stand up when blood suddenly rushed to her head causing her to falter. She instinctually moved her hand to her stomach as her vision tunneled.

Quickly responding, Philip stood up and steadied her, "Hey, hey. Not so fast." he gently guided her back down to the floor, "Come on, let's sit down." He sat on the ground, leaned against the bathtub and opened his legs guiding her to sit between them, "Come here."

All her focus dedicated to the sickness in her stomach that threatened to reemerge, she didn't protest. She leaned against him and he responded by pushing her hair to one side and leaning his head forward on her shoulder to whisper, "You know the routine. Close your eyes. Relax."

She did know the routine. She also knew better than to fight him. Countless hours spent on the bathroom floor pathetically sobbing when she was pregnant with Paige proving that she was no match for morning sickness and hormones. Allowing her resistance to falter one particularly miserable night, she learned that the same could not be said for Philip, who, much to his chagrin, had a curious knack for easing her morning sickness. She wasn't sure what infuriated her more about that fact – the resulting destruction of the personal boundaries between them or that he had any power over her at all.

As was procedure, he snaked an arm around her, sliding his hand underneath her shirt. He lightly pressed his hand to her abdomen, keeping it steady as he whispered, "Breathe. Just relax. Breathe."

Reluctantly following his orders, she closed her eyes and focused on her breathing.

She used to wonder if maybe this wasn't a skill of Philip's at all, but rather her daughter's first declaration of parental preference. And now, as a steady wave of calm washed over her, she wondered if this child was voicing a similar opinion.

She was suddenly overtaken by emotion. She cursed the chemicals clouding her brain, tears building as sad grey eyes met his.

"What?" Philip flashed a half-hearted smile, "Did I lose the magic touch?"

Elizabeth clenched her eyes shut, forcing the pathetic truth from her lips, "I don't think I can do this again."

"What?"

"This. I can't do it. That's why I didn't tell you. I was going to-" she shook her head, "-I can't do it, Philip."

"Hey, hey, hey," his voice was unexpectedly gentle as he turned her toward him, "That's not true."

She tried to pull away, "Let go of me."

"No." He responded by enveloping her in an embrace, "No. Just listen to me for a second," he pulled back when she complied. He placed a finger under her chin and searched to meet her eyes. Guilt overtook her when she saw his eyes had flooded with tears.

His next statement intensified the blow, "Do you honestly have no idea how absolutely amazing you are?"

She scoffed, diverting her eyes away from his, "Don't patronize me."

"I'm not. I wouldn't." Philip shook his head, pausing for a moment as he searched for the right words. "Elizabeth - have you seen the little girl you made? She's perfect. And she started out like this too. So, this part is terrible, sure. But it was worth it, right? I mean, now that she's here."

He lifted a thumb to trace away the faint tears that managed to push their way through all of her resolve. "Am I wrong?"

She shook her head.

"We'll get through this," Philip pressed his forehead to hers, "I promise."

Pulling his face away from hers, Elizabeth was snapped back to reality by the look in his eyes. It had become harder and harder to deny what that particular look meant. The way the blue in his eyes deepened, his expression softened. It was a look that has become reserved for her and Paige, exclusively. A look that threatened to distort the line between reality and illusion.

Retreat now her only option, she stood up, grateful that she was able to do so stably this time. She smoothed her shirt and turned to the mirror to fix her hair. He stood up after her, an awkward silence growing as he stood inches from her back.

She turned her head to peer at the clock on the nightstand in the bedroom before turning back to face his reflection in the mirror, "You need to go."

"What?" He asked, mind still trying to process her sudden withdrawal.

"The meet. You need to go."

He glanced at the clock, the angry red numbers breaking his concentration, "Shit." He looked back to Elizabeth's reflection, "Are you okay?"

Her eyes locked with his, "Go."

The silence hung between them, the elephant in the room growing larger by the second. Finally, drawing a deep breath, Philip asked, "Do you want me to message the Centre on my way back?" There was no doubt as to what his question really meant – there would be no turning back once Moscow gave their seal of approval. He started to continue when she didn't answer immediately "About the –"

"No." Elizabeth cut him off, quickly continuing as she watched his heart sink, "I can do it. Maybe take Paige to the park after."

He smiled. "She would like that."

"Philip." She kept her voice stern.

He nodded, "Be home as soon as I can." She was grateful when he turned away, the smile plastered on his face threatening to spread to hers.

Elizabeth remained in front of the mirror long after she heard the car pull out of the driveway. She stared at her reflection, the implications of what had just occurred weighing heavy on her chest. Just when she thought she would suffocate, a tiny voice pulled her back, "Mommy!"

She turned her head just in time to catch a flash of red-hair at her feet as tiny arms wrapped around her legs, "Where did you come from?"

"You!" Paige squealed at the retort she undoubtedly picked up from her father, having also picked up his tendency to laugh at his own jokes.

"Okay, Paige," Elizabeth looked down at the girl, corners of her mouth raising, "let's go to the park."


End file.
